FireLight - Hello Poetry

I want something I can't have you ever seen the sky so blue you forgot red and yellow?

0

Jan 21, 2022

Jan 21, 2022 at 10:55 AM UTC

FireLight

Untitled

I want something I can't have you ever seen the sky so blue you forgot red and yellow?

6

My life is dripping out of my hands fingers aren't watertight sticky palms sticky jeans red streaks down my shirt Just a little puddle, cupped and the **** thing's dripping out. Run down my wrists smear in my elbows stain my shirt sleeves blue, my tears are chapped lips run dry watch as I drown in my favorite hue.

0

Dec 17, 2021

Dec 17, 2021 at 11:35 AM UTC

FireLight

Surface tension

My life is dripping out of my hands fingers aren't watertight sticky palms sticky jeans red streaks down my shirt Just a little puddle, cupped and the **** thing's dripping out. Run down my wrists smear in my elbows stain my shirt sleeves blue, my tears are chapped lips run dry watch as I drown in my favorite hue.

14

I’ve been walking around inside-out for a few years now if I fall my heart just may burst, so my nerves won’t let me near you.

0

Dec 16, 2021

Dec 16, 2021 at 10:36 AM UTC

FireLight

Open

I’ve been walking around inside-out for a few years now if I fall my heart just may burst, so my nerves won’t let me near you.

5

Fit in a new gear ***** ***** ***** but no clock is perfect This one runs a little fast a little strained ***** ***** ***** ***** and now the metal's creaking.

0

Nov 25, 2020

Nov 25, 2020 at 11:38 PM UTC

FireLight

No clock is perfect

Fit in a new gear ***** ***** ***** but no clock is perfect This one runs a little fast a little strained ***** ***** ***** ***** and now the metal's creaking.

7

I stopped beside a summer brook and could only see what the winter took the banking stone was laid out bare a few scattered lichens here and there. But standing at my kneeling feet one tuft of grass the wind couldn't beat its leaves were calloused, stained winter-green face shining skyward, labors unseen. I stared at the gnarled thing as the years grew thick in my throat I couldn't remember its first little shoots But here it was standing, with deep, deep roots.

0

May 29, 2020

May 29, 2020 at 12:01 PM UTC

FireLight

Old discovery

I stopped beside a summer brook and could only see what the winter took the banking stone was laid out bare a few scattered lichens here and there. But standing at my kneeling feet one tuft of grass the wind couldn't beat its leaves were calloused, stained winter-green face shining skyward, labors unseen. I stared at the gnarled thing as the years grew thick in my throat I couldn't remember its first little shoots But here it was standing, with deep, deep roots.

12

I find it strange that when I look into your eyes I'm not met with an endless starry sky. The world around me doesn't freeze or turn monochrome around everyone but you. I don't see an endless sea or visions of a setting sun, no matter my determination. So how do I know it is love if it isn't as the words I've heard all my life describe? Yet my heart still drops when you walk into the room, even when your focus is a place far off. People say it's like a flutter but this is far too heavy to use such a light word to describe such a feeling. It's painful, but I know it isn't something ominous or bad because it feels right. How do I know it is love if none if my words describe it right as they should? I get it every time our eyes meet or you tilt your head and smile with your head in the clouds. I get it when you laugh to yourself or say something hardly above a whisper. When you focus so hard you ***** up and let out that silly sigh of aggravation and I feel such deep affection. Yet is it alright for me to say what I feel is love when I can't even tell myself what love is? I don't think your eyes need starry skies or my stomach needs a million butterflies. Your smile doesn't need to illuminate the room and my thoughts for you don't need an anchor. Your love shouldn't have an expectation and my words don't need to have a proper diction. Perhaps I'll see it in your heart or feel it in your touch one day if you feel the same regardless of what the world has sold me with their modern day poetry. I promise you that no matter how hopeless I become I will find out for myself what it means to love you wholly, even if I have to find out from loving at a distance.

0

FireLight

Jan 21, 2019

Jan 21, 2019 at 2:21 PM UTC

Pyrrha

The Expectations of You

I find it strange that when I look into your eyes I'm not met with an endless starry sky. The world around me doesn't freeze or turn monochrome around everyone but you. I don't see an endless sea or visions of a setting sun, no matter my determination. So how do I know it is love if it isn't as the words I've heard all my life describe? Yet my heart still drops when you walk into the room, even when your focus is a place far off. People say it's like a flutter but this is far too heavy to use such a light word to describe such a feeling. It's painful, but I know it isn't something ominous or bad because it feels right. How do I know it is love if none if my words describe it right as they should? I get it every time our eyes meet or you tilt your head and smile with your head in the clouds. I get it when you laugh to yourself or say something hardly above a whisper. When you focus so hard you ***** up and let out that silly sigh of aggravation and I feel such deep affection. Yet is it alright for me to say what I feel is love when I can't even tell myself what love is? I don't think your eyes need starry skies or my stomach needs a million butterflies. Your smile doesn't need to illuminate the room and my thoughts for you don't need an anchor. Your love shouldn't have an expectation and my words don't need to have a proper diction. Perhaps I'll see it in your heart or feel it in your touch one day if you feel the same regardless of what the world has sold me with their modern day poetry. I promise you that no matter how hopeless I become I will find out for myself what it means to love you wholly, even if I have to find out from loving at a distance.

5

. It is true, you are totally right. I'm as dry as a desert, I'm a dead empty land. I used to be a jungle when the clouds where by my side, and now that they are gone, my trees, my dreams they dried and died. Because of this, nothing grows inside of me, there is only silence and despair. I can't feel what I write, I barely feel alive I want to feel human again Oh god, I really miss the rain

0

FireLight

Dec 5, 2018

Dec 5, 2018 at 10:49 PM UTC

Idontreallyknowwhatimdoing

Dry

. It is true, you are totally right. I'm as dry as a desert, I'm a dead empty land. I used to be a jungle when the clouds where by my side, and now that they are gone, my trees, my dreams they dried and died. Because of this, nothing grows inside of me, there is only silence and despair. I can't feel what I write, I barely feel alive I want to feel human again Oh god, I really miss the rain

19

Impatiently the flakes of snow brushed off the dust on his cheek- Half of the still face of a man lying prone in a thin plastic seat His heart in his cavernous hand, his loss in the bustling street She nary spent a moment's stop to take in the man on the bench, But the brush on his skin lingered in her pensive walk to work What was it to know the wind's desolate blow? Have no one around but the ice and the snow? What thoughts could he have spent? Yet she bled into the distant crowd covering up the concrete They went about their various worlds entranced with disbodied sorrows Taking the chance to dream about the far-off worlds of others But no raw comprehension of the man on the bench or glancing sidestep could stay; One by one, heart to mind, All of them walked away.

0

Nov 14, 2018

Nov 14, 2018 at 11:21 PM UTC

FireLight

of this City, Rewritten

Impatiently the flakes of snow brushed off the dust on his cheek- Half of the still face of a man lying prone in a thin plastic seat His heart in his cavernous hand, his loss in the bustling street She nary spent a moment's stop to take in the man on the bench, But the brush on his skin lingered in her pensive walk to work What was it to know the wind's desolate blow? Have no one around but the ice and the snow? What thoughts could he have spent? Yet she bled into the distant crowd covering up the concrete They went about their various worlds entranced with disbodied sorrows Taking the chance to dream about the far-off worlds of others But no raw comprehension of the man on the bench or glancing sidestep could stay; One by one, heart to mind, All of them walked away.

15